


Anywhere But Here

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Castiel Whump, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imprisoned by Lucifer and worrying about Sam, Dean has a lot on his plate - but thanks to Castiel, he soon realizes that there's an awful lot more that isn't right in the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anywhere But Here

  
Note:Set post 4.22  


 

* * *

 

 

It took Dean a while to recognize the voice. He hadn’t spent much time with Castiel, not like Sam had; he’d only really met Jimmy Novak. The angel’s voice was different to Jimmy’s – deeper, more sonorous. And it wasn’t as though Castiel was talking, anyway. He was screaming. A lot of people sounded the same when they screamed. Screaming wasn’t so much about subtleties of tone or inflection: it was about getting all the pain out of you in the only way you could.

From the sound of it, Castiel was in a lot of pain. Dean shuddered, hugging his knees, wondering what the hell Lucifer could do to the angel to make him sound like that. Nothing good. Nothing he wanted to know anything about.

For the millionth time, he wondered where Sam was. He wondered why Lucifer had just locked him in this room and left him alone. He wondered why _he_ wasn’t the one screaming right now, far off in some anonymous corner of the building that was currently being used by his captor and his lackeys. Why wasn’t Lucifer interested in him? Dean grimaced to himself. It was almost enough to hurt his pride. It was like he wasn’t important or something.

Then again, he wasn’t. _Sam_ was the important one.

The angels said he had to save the world, after all.

The screaming stopped. It hadn’t gone on for long; ten minutes at the most. Long enough to give Dean the heebie-jeebies and to wonder if Castiel was dead now. He knew angels could be killed, but he had no idea how. It made perfect sense that Lucifer would know. He used to be an angel once himself. Probably still was, only with a side-order of demon thrown in.

Dean still hadn’t seen him, and wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to.

Footsteps approached the door, echoing around the corridor outside. Dean automatically sorted through the sounds, establishing that there were three people out there – three demons, he corrected himself, as he rose to his feet. No way could he overpower them. He was as helpless as ever. A whole month in this miserable room and no way to escape. Why the hell was he here?

The door was unbolted from the outside and it swung open with a melodramatic creak. Dean tensed, knowing it was too early in the day for them to have brought him food – they were here for another reason. If there was one thing Lucifer seemed to be good at, it was sticking to a routine. Once Dean had realized it, he’d filed the knowledge away for future use against him. _He’s a creature of habit. We can take advantage of that._ Yeah, right. If ever he got out of there. If ever Sam turned up again. Where _was_ that kid?

“Present for you,” said one of the demons before him wryly, and Dean flinched as they threw Castiel into the room with more force than was necessary. The angel hit the floor on his knees and the demons quickly slammed the door shut behind him; Dean didn’t even have time to fire off a cutting comment in their wake, although frankly he’d used so many in the last few weeks he was running low on insults.

Castiel groaned, wrapping his arms around his torso and curling over until his head almost touched the floor. Dean crouched in front of him, a little freaked to see him so clearly in pain. Castiel usually scared him. He was so different, so enigmatic, and the way he’d treated Sam had been… well, heartless. Threatening, cajoling, using Dean as leverage. It was kind of sick. Castiel had still made his choice to join them, however, defying his superiors (and _what_ superiors they were), bowing to Dean’s demands to take him to see his brother after Sam had dumped him at Bobby’s and headed off on his own. Funny, he’d never realized until then that Castiel gave a damn what he thought. Apparently he’d been wrong.

“You okay, man?” he asked, wondering if he should place a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The last time he’d touched him had been when he’d socked him on the jaw and told him he was dead already. Boy, had that hurt.

“You’re not the right Dean,” the angel replied without looking up, his voice low and agonized. “This is all wrong.”

Dean frowned, surprised. “If I’m not Dean, then I’m wearing somebody else’s underwear right now.”

Castiel made a sound that could have been a laugh. His shoulders moved under his coat and he slowly sat upright until they were face to face. His eyes were dark with pain and his skin was horribly pale, but as Dean looked him up and down he couldn’t for the life of him see any injuries. “What did he do to you, Castiel?” he asked, puzzled.

Castiel let out a long, uncomfortable breath and tilted his head so Dean could see a tiny pinprick of blood on his neck. It looked like a needle puncture. “Okay, so they gave you something,” Dean observed. “What was it? Any idea?”

“Lucifer’s blood,” Castiel said tightly.

Dean sat back on his heels, shocked. “Oh, that can’t be any kind of good.”

Castiel closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped and for a moment Dean thought he was going to topple forwards. He placed a hand on his chest, keeping him upright, and Castiel shivered under his palm. “Okay, okay,” he soothed. “So what’s it supposed to do to you? I take it you won’t be getting any extra-special superpowers like Sammy got from Ruby’s blood. You’ve already got your angel mojo, haven’t you?”

“It will corrupt me,” Castiel said, his voice filled with weariness. “It will scald my purity and kill me. He will draw it out, making sure I suffer. It is anathema to my entire being, Dean. It would be like somebody forcing you to drink acid.”

Dean couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he simply put his free hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed it. The angel looked up at him through narrowed eyes, searching him for something. “What?” Dean asked, confused by his expression.

Castiel looked down again. “This isn’t right,” he sighed. “None of this. Not you, or him... It’s all wrong. Lucifer is an angel. He can travel through time. Everything you know, everything you think you know, has been changed–” He broke off, gasping as a shudder gripped his body. His hands clenched and he moaned angrily.

“Like you did with Sam,” Dean said hastily, trying to distract him from the pain and thinking as fast as he could. “You took him back in time but he couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t stop mom from making her deal, or Azazel from killing anybody. What are you saying here, Castiel? That Lucifer’s done the same thing, but he succeeded? Has he been stamping on butterflies somewhere in the past? What has he changed?”

Castiel drew in a deep, ragged breath. “You always were a quick study,” he declared, with affection clear in his voice.

Dean was taken aback for a moment. Since when did Castiel know him that well? But then all thought disappeared as the angel slumped against him, trembling, and he had to support his weight as he lowered him the floor. He helped him lie down on his back and Castiel stared past him at the grubby ceiling, panting hard.

“Is there anything I can do?” Dean asked, feeling helpless.

Castiel shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s like… fire in my veins,” he said haltingly. “Need to… concentrate. Fight it.”

Dean studied him for a moment. “How did he get you? Why couldn’t you fight him? Where’s Sam?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, clearly fighting back a groan, and lifted his left arm. The sleeve of his coat was burned around the cuff. Dean looked past the blackened material and winced at the sight of a circular symbol burned onto the back his wrist like a brand.

“Some kind of spell?” he asked, and Castiel nodded. “Well, that explains it. What did they do – sneak up on you with a red-hot poker?”

But Castiel’s eyes were fluttering closed. His arm fell back to the floor and his head lolled to one side. Dean watched, creeped out beyond belief, as the angel who’d pulled his brother out of Hell passed out like an ordinary human being.

“Crap,” he muttered. “What did Lucifer _do?_ ”

 

* * *

 

_Sam knelt in the mud in the main street of the decaying village of Cold Oak and cradled his brother’s body in his arms. “Dean,” he moaned, shocked beyond belief, as blood ran over his fingers and dripped to the ground. “No, Dean, it wasn’t supposed to end like this…_ Dean! _”_

_If only he’d killed Jake. If only he hadn’t let him go. If only Dean hadn’t arrived when he did._

_That bastard just plunged a knife into his brother’s spine and murdered him._

_Sam howled up at the night sky, but somewhere inside him he knew this wasn’t over._

 

* * *

 

Their captors came to collect Castiel again after a few hours. Dean rushed at them, fists flying, and Castiel struggled with his diminished strength, twisting and turning in their grip, but it was a lost cause from the start.

Once they’d gone, Dean washed his bloody nose in the room’s grimy basin and left the faucets running so he wouldn’t have to listen to Castiel’s screams.

 

* * *

 

_“Bring my brother back and you can have my soul.”_

_The demon cocked her head seductively. “You don’t get ten years, Sammy. You get one. Otherwise no deal.”_

_“Deal.”_

_They kissed, and somewhere in the back of Sam’s head a little voice warned him that it had been far too easy. When he got back to the house and saw his brother standing by the bed, however, he didn’t care._

_“Dude,” exclaimed Dean, who was absolutely no longer dead. “Where have you been? I’m_ starving _here!”_

 

* * *

 

If Dean hadn’t caught him Castiel would have hit the floor face-first this time, not even attempting to stop himself from falling as the demons threw him into the room. Dean fired off some well-chosen swearwords as they slammed the door and then bent to check on his companion, his heart clenching as he saw the state of him. Castiel’s coat and jacket were missing and he was drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably in Dean’s arms. His body jerked every now and then and his breathing was ragged and broken. His eyes were rolling in their sockets and he didn’t respond as Dean said his name, shaking him firmly to wake him up.

There was another pinprick on his neck, right beside the first. Dean couldn’t believe something so insignificant could have such an impact.

There wasn’t much he could do, so he simply took off his coat, rolled it into a ball and placed it under Castiel’s head. The angel was hot, so he pulled off one of his shirts and soaked it in water, wiping it across his forehead and anywhere else he could think of to cool him down. After that, all he could do was wait.

Castiel roused himself after an hour, still trembling but otherwise lucid enough to look Dean right in the eyes as he stared down at him.

“You’re not having a good day, are you?” Dean observed sadly.

Castiel blinked. His eyelashes were wet and clumped together.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Dean continued, suddenly angry. “Of all the things for that bastard to do to you… You’re a freakin’ angel, Castiel. This is wrong.”

“I d-don’t know what changed, Dean,” Castiel said softly. His voice was hoarse from the screaming. “Tell me what ch-changed.”

Dean shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? How are things _supposed_ to be in this timeline? Did we stop Lucifer from rising? Is that what he changed? Were we strong enough to actually do it?”

Castiel frowned and shook his head. “N-no. He rose. But he wasn’t… like this. So powerful. This Lucifer has killed so many, and become so strong. He must have allies. The other Lucifer wasn’t so bold. And Sam wasn’t at his side.”

Everything stopped. Dean caught his breath, feeling his blood run cold. Funny, he’d always thought that was just a saying, but it actually _did_. It was like it froze in his veins.

“Sam… he’s what?” he sputtered in disbelief. “What are you saying, Castiel? That he’s gone Dark Side? Did you see him?”

Castiel nodded. He licked his lips before he spoke, his eyes filled with regret. “He watched. He laughed, Dean. I tried to talk to him, but he hit me.” He turned his head to the side slightly and Dean was stunned to see a red bruise already starting to form on his jaw.

“Sam wouldn’t do that,” he breathed. “That’s not him. He’s possessed or something.”

“Lucifer is his master,” Castiel said plainly. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“No, that’s _bullshit._ ”

He jumped to his feet and started pacing. No way was this true. No fucking _way_. After everything they’d been through, Sam goes and does this? No way. He hadn’t meant to kill Lilith – it had been an accident. He’d been manipulated by Ruby. All of it had been a trick. Dean hadn’t managed to talk to Sam much after Lucifer had risen and they’d split up, but he knew him well enough to know that he was devastated. He didn’t want the world to end. He was his _brother_.

“I can’t stop it,” Castiel was saying from the floor, his voice filled with pain. “It burns… It’s burning me from the inside out. I don’t know how much more of this I can… _ah,_ please, Dean, don’t let them…” His voice faltered and his eyes flickered closed, but he wasn’t unconscious. He simply lay and shuddered, fingers twitching on his chest.

Dean ran his hands through his hair, trying to control his breathing. Sam was with Lucifer. Okay, so it was a ploy. A plan of some kind. Maybe he was going to rescue him? He had no idea what his brother was up to, but he wasn’t evil. He’d hit Castiel because he’d had no choice; he was keeping up appearances.

Yeah. That was it. It had to be.

He knelt beside Castiel and placed a hand on his forehead. Castiel groaned, leaning into the touch, and suddenly Dean felt fingers close around his palm. What the hell? Since when did Castiel want to hold hands?

“Dean,” moaned the angel. “I have to… f-fix it…”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Get some sleep, Castiel. Try to get some of your strength back before they…” He was going to say _before they do it to you again_ but he caught himself. Hardly a comforting thought. But Castiel didn’t seem to notice. He stared up at Dean and a small, bitter-looking smile tilted his lips.

“You haven’t c-called me Cas,” he said. “I miss it.”

Dean was a little baffled, but decided to humor him. “I can call you that if you want, uh, Cas. Who came up with that dumb nickname anyway? It’s not what I’d call catchy.”

Castiel’s eyes closed. “Someone dumb,” he said softly.

When he fell unconscious, Dean didn’t pull his hand out of his grip.

 

* * *

 

_Sam wasn’t prepared for how fuck-ugly hell hounds were._

_He wasn’t prepared to die under their teeth and claws either, despite the fact he’d had twelve months to get ready for it._

_Most of all, though, he wasn’t prepared for the sound of Dean screaming his name in absolute horror as it happened._

 

* * *

 

“So you need the tipping point?” Dean said thoughtfully.

“It could be something obvious, or something... small,” Castiel replied, his words interrupted by hitches in his breathing which Dean tried to ignore.

Dean ran his knuckles across his eyes. “I’m still a bit confused, man. All this time-travel flux capacitor stuff makes my brain hurt. I thought someone traveling into the past couldn’t affect it? That fate couldn’t be messed with ’cause it’s, you know, _fate?_ ”

“Lucifer is an angel. He is not bound... by the same rules as humans, or by our laws, because he... doesn’t care. And he is... powerful.”

“So he snuck back in time, made a few tweaks and then came back to reap the rewards.” Dean wiped his hand over his face. “And you’re the only one who knows, because you’re an angel and time is your bitch.”

Castiel smiled at that, but his eyes were distant. He was struggling to keep from shaking, his fists clenched at his side. The coat Dean had slipped under his head was wet through with sweat. He looked like he was dying, and Dean had a feeling he probably was. He’d seen how Sam had reacted to drinking a demon’s blood, and he’d already had some inside him when he started. He couldn’t even imagine how an angel would react to being force-fed blood from the lord of Hell. Angels were supposed to be pure, weren’t they? Lucifer’s blood had to be anything but.

“What happened when Lucifer rose in the _real_ timeline, then?” Dean asked, and even as he said the words he wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they were. He was effectively saying that his timeline was fake. But he’d lived it. He’d _felt_ it. How could it not be real?

“You and Sam went underground,” Castiel said hollowly. “I tracked you down and we were planning... to rout his followers... but then I found myself here. Reality warped around me. I was disorientated, and the demons... were able to incapacitate me.”

Dean was already shaking his head. “No, no, that’s not what happened. Sam and me were separated. We split up. I left a false trail and you went with Sam. Somewhere safe – you didn’t even tell me where, in case I was captured.”

“Why... would I leave you?” Castiel said, sounding baffled. “You... should not have been left. You are not... bait.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe not, but you had to look after Sam. He’s supposed to save the world, isn’t he?”

Castiel blinked rapidly, his forehead furrowing at Dean’s words. He looked up at him in bewilderment and said, “No, he’s not. That’s you, Dean. You are Lucifer’s bane, not your brother.”

Dean caught his breath, shocked. “But how can that...”

His words were cut short as the door swung open behind him. Dammit. He hadn’t even heard the demons approaching.

“Time for your medicine, angel,” one of them declared with a twisted grin. Dean jumped to his feet but his colleague pinned him against the nearest wall with his hand, leaving Castiel at the mercy of the other two. They yanked him to his feet and held him upright between them, and even though he barely had the strength to stand Castiel struggled desperately to get free. Dean caught a glimpse of his expression as they marched him out of the door: _fear_. He was terrified. He knew what was waiting for him, and he didn’t want to go.

“Castiel!” he yelled, as the demon shoved him to the floor and left him alone again.

This time when Castiel screamed, Dean roared his outrage at anybody who could hear him and bruised several toes trying to kick the door down.

 

* * *

 

_Sam woke up in his coffin._

_The first thing he did was panic, of course, because he was only human and no human ever wants to wake up to find they’re six feet under. Then he punched and kicked his way out of the box and through the earth above it until he reached beautiful, blessed daylight, gasping in lungfuls of air with more relief than he’d ever felt in his life._

_An hour later, at a fill-up joint in the middle of nowhere, he stared at the handprint on his arm in a mirror and wondered how the fuck he’d gotten out of Hell._

 

* * *

 

Castiel was gone for a lot longer than he’d been gone the last time. Dean paced to and fro while he waited for him to return, thinking furiously, finding himself relieved that he’d spent so much time watching sci-fi as a kid because this whole ‘alternate time-stream’ shit would be hurting his brain if he hadn’t. He reduced the facts down to their basics:

Castiel had memories from another timeline.

That meant this timeline was wrong; Lucifer had meddled with it to turn it in his favor.

In the other timeline, Dean was supposed to stop Lucifer, not Sam.

Lucifer was more powerful in this timeline than he should have been.

If Dean could fix it, all the thousands of people who had died in the last two months might be saved. Sam might not be at Lucifer’s side right now. And there would actually be _hope._

But if he did fix it, what would happen to him? Would he simply cease to exist?

Even though that thought was endlessly troubling, Dean couldn’t help but find himself clinging onto Castiel’s theory with everything he had because, without it, he couldn’t explain Sam. Oh god, _Sam._ What was he doing with Lucifer? If he was in the building, why hadn’t he come to see him? What the hell was he playing at here?

Footsteps approached at last and he moved away from the door. What came through it this time shocked him: Castiel was bloodied and beaten, his shirt soaked scarlet and his face and chest cut to ribbons. He barely even twitched when the demons hefted him into Dean’s arms, and as he sank to the ground with him Dean was stunned at what a dead weight he was.

“Castiel?” he queried, his heart skittering in fright. “What the hell did they do to you?”

Castiel coughed, the sound raw and bloody against Dean’s chest. “Al... Alastair,” he rasped. “He’s not... dead.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, still shocked. “You mean he’s dead in your timeline? How did he die?”

“S-Sam,” Castiel gasped, but that was all he could manage before his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to convulse in Dean’s arms. Dean swore furiously and tried to keep his airway clear, all the while thinking, _this is an angel, this is a fucking ANGEL, how the hell is this even happening?_ Castiel’s body was stiff and unyielding under his fingers, muscles and tendons stretched tight and painful as he spasmed for minute after endless minute, and there was nothing Dean could do except wait for it to end.

“Come on, man,” he urged him, as bloodied foam began to bubble on Castiel’s lips. “Fight it, will ya? Don’t let it beat you, Castiel. _Cas._ Come on, fight back!”

It was over suddenly; Castiel fell limp in his arms, his body twitching slightly as Dean laid him down on the concrete. It was only then that he had the time to lean back and study him, wincing as he saw Alastair’s handiwork: cuts and slices, bruises and tears, jagged reminders of how he’d become such a creature to fear in Hell. Worried, Dean explored Castiel’s body, relieved to find that he had all his fingers and toes. Nothing had been cut off. None of the wounds were life-threatening. He’d lost a lot of blood, yes, but it wasn’t deathly serious.

Alastair had just wanted to cause him pain.

But there was a third puncture mark on Castiel’s neck, and Dean knew that nothing the demon had done was anywhere near as bad as that.

 

* * *

 

_The creature that walked into the barn after Bobby’s summoning spell was nothing like the one Sam had been expecting._

_“I am an angel of the Lord,” he said, fixing Sam with too-blue eyes, and Sam had felt faint._

_“Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing,” snapped Dean beside him. His brother’s eyes were wide and suspicious, if a little bloodshot. Sam had only managed to sober him up a few hours ago, and he still couldn’t believe the mess he’d found him in. Four months and he’d sunk so low? No wonder Bobby had been so pleased to see Sam turn up on his doorstep. Nobody could control Dean in such a state._

_The angel – Castiel – shot Dean a look of surprise, as though he was seeing him for the first time. His gaze lingered on him for a moment and then shadowy wings were suddenly_ there _, arcing above him impressively and impossibly._

_“You have faith, don’t you, Sam?” Castiel asked._

_Sam nodded, feeling as though his entire world had been turned upside-down._

_Angels were real. And if that was true, so was God._

_“Good,” said his new mentor. “Because we have work for you.”_

 

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t wake up for a good long while and when he finally did he was pretty out of it, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Dean talked to him about anything he could think of, trying to get him to respond, but it was a few hours before he had a sense that he was getting through to him. The whole time he cleaned him up as best as he could, annoyed that some of the cuts on his shoulders needed stitching and there was no other way he could think of to close them.

He spent a long time examining the brand on the back of Castiel’s wrist that was keeping him under control. How could he stop it from working? He remembered Bobby burning a line through the binding link on Sam’s arm when he’d been possessed, and how it had broken the spell. Would that work here? If he sliced a line through this symbol, what would happen? Would Castiel get his superhero powers back and get them both out of there?

If he did, though… would Castiel feel obliged to kill Sam?

Or would Dean?

The more Dean thought about it, the more he wanted the other timeline back in place. Sam was still Sam in that one. Alastair was dead, from the sound of it. And Lucifer wasn’t in control of half the United States. The place sounded just peachy compared to here.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, his face twisting in pain. Dean leaned over him and was surprised when a damp hand fell on his cheek, sliding down it weakly.

“Hey,” he said, trying to ignore it. It seemed this Castiel was pretty touchy-feely compared to the one he knew. Huh.

“One more,” Castiel rasped. “It will kill me… It’s too much for me, Dean. He will... win. Only the… angels can help now.”

“Sam says the angels are dicks,” Dean said hopelessly. “I don’t know what happened in your timeline, but Zachariah and Uriel told him they actually _wanted_ Lucifer to get out of Hell. Why should they care if he’s doing exactly what they wanted him to?”

Castiel shuddered, a moan torn from his lips. The air wheezed in his chest and he seemed to be having trouble drawing breath. And God, he was so pale. Dean felt something inside him twinge, and without thinking he took the hand from his face and held it tightly. “Hang on, buddy,” he said firmly. “You’re not goin’ out like this, you hear me?”

Castiel blinked and Dean’s heart almost stopped as his eyes went completely black. They stared up at him for a few seconds until he blinked again and they returned to their usual color.

_Shit._

“It’s too strong,” Castiel groaned, a droplet of sweat running from his hairline down to his ear. “It’s burning me. It hurts. It _hurts._ ”

“Shhh, shhh. It’s alright, Castiel. We’ll figure a way out of this, don’t worry.”

“You are not my Dean,” Castiel said, and his voice was suddenly filled with grief. “When you say my name, it doesn’t… feel the same.”

Dean could be pretty dense when he wanted to be, but this wasn’t one of those times. His brain did a backflip as he abruptly understood exactly what Castiel was telling him here. As crazy as it was, this Castiel had feelings for his other self. Why else would there be hand-holding and face-stroking? And a nickname. An honest-to-god nickname for an angel. Only _he_ could be so flippant as to come up with something so inappropriate.

“How well do you know the other me, exactly?” he blurted out. “Are we talking ‘well enough to go for a few beers with’ or are you way beyond the beers and more into, uh, other things?”

Castiel smiled thinly, but there was no warmth in it. He had none to spare. “He means a lot to me,” he said. “And I think I mean a lot to him.”

Dean sat back on his heels, blowing out a breath in shock. Holy crap. Him and _Castiel?_ It was a different timeline, not a parallel universe, wasn’t it? “How the hell did that happen?” he asked, incredulous. “If your timeline is anything like this one, you never spent more than five minutes with me! Uh, him. Us. Whatever.”

Castiel’s expression hardened. “You weren’t my assignment here, were you?” he asked, realization dawning in his voice. “You never went to Hell.”

Dean shook his head, puzzled. “Of course not. Sam did.”

“Sam made the deal.”

“Yeah.” Dean hissed in a breath. “So, what, in your timeline it was Sam who died in Cold Oak? And I’m the one who made the deal?”

“I pulled you from Hell,” Castiel said slowly. “You were the righteous man the prophecy spoke of.”

Dean fell silent for a few minutes, processing the news. He held back a shudder at the thought of himself being tortured by Alastair, although after seeing how fucked-up his brother had been over the last year after suffering at his hands, he actually felt relieved to have spared him the torment. “So I broke, too,” he declared, after a while. “Sam made it through thirty-five years before he gave in. How many did I manage?”

Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t remember,” he said, and Dean knew he was lying. He decided not to press the point. It wasn’t a competition, after all.

“Let’s see,” he mused, thinking hard. “If I went to Hell, then you pulled me out. You followed me around all the time instead of Sam. You didn’t have to keep threatening to kill me every time Sam tried to use his demon powers or hung out with Ruby.” He frowned. “You still disobeyed, didn’t you?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he said, with an effort. He was shivering again. “You asked me to and I couldn’t say no.”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “That’s what happened here, too. I did wonder why you agreed to help… I guess you’re hot for me across time and space. I never took you for a hopeless romantic, Castiel.”

“Sam has to die,” Castiel said suddenly. “Not here and now. In the past. Azazel’s child must kill him, and you must bring him back with a deal. It’s the only way to stop this.”

“At least we know what to do now,” Dean agreed, feeling his stomach lurch. _Sam had to die. Shit._ “But how the hell do we do it? It might have escaped your notice, Castiel, but I don’t have much in the way of HG Wells technology going on here. And you’re too messed up...” He stopped, remembering his thoughts from earlier. “This mark on your wrist. How do I stop it working? Can I cut it in some way? Interrupt the design?”

“It would need... fire,” Castiel gasped. “You... can’t... _ah–_ ” His body flexed on the floor as pain seemed to course through him. Grimacing in sympathy, Dean squeezed his hand.

“We’ll figure something out,” he told him with forced calmness. “All you have to do is hang on.”

“The angels must know already,” Castiel said, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “There is no way they wouldn’t. They have chosen... to do nothing. I have to stop this, but...” He groaned, biting his lip. Dean suspected it was to keep from screaming.

They knew what was wrong. They knew how to fix it.

They couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said. “I think we’re both stuck here.”

 

* * *

 

_Sam opened his eyes and Ruby was standing beside the bed._

_She’d come sniffing around him before in her new body but he’d always told her he didn’t want to know. Now, however, with the bruises from Alastair’s beating still fresh on his skin and the soft beeping of the medical equipment beside his bed telling him how serious things had become, he was more inclined to listen to her._

_“So the angels needed your torture skills, huh?” Ruby said flatly. “How’d that work out for you?”_

_“What does it look like?” he rasped. His throat really hurt. He could still feel Alastair’s fingers closing in on his windpipe, and the memory brought him out in a cold sweat._

_She sat on the bed, having to jump a little to get up so high. “Alastair’s gone on a rampage. You should see it, Sam. Blood everywhere. Schoolkids, priests, little old ladies skewered by their own knitting needles… He’s really enjoying himself out there.”_

_Sam closed his eyes, sickened._

_“Shame that angel of yours couldn’t kill him,” Ruby said idly, and when Sam opened his eyes again she was staring down at her polished fingernails contemplatively. “I guess after his little forced trip to Heaven he’s on his way back and will have a nice, supportive chat with you about how you shouldn’t give up hope and all that crap.” She leant forward, taking Sam’s hand. He recoiled in distate. Undeterred, she carried on speaking. “This is crazy, Sam. The angels expect you to take down Lilith but you can’t even kick Alastair’s ass? You need help. I can give it. You have no idea what you’re capable of, Sam. No idea at all.”_

_“Go to Hell,” he told her._

_“Lilith sent_ you _to Hell for forty years,” Ruby said. “Did you see what happened to Dean while you were gone? How he fell to pieces? He’s not been the same since, has he? You need to be strong, Sam. You need to take this all the way. He can’t help you. The angels have their own agenda, you can trust me on that. All you should worry about is Lilith. I can help you rip that bitch apart. Why are you_ fighting _me?”_

_Sam opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. A soul-crushing weariness swept over him and he realized he didn’t have a good answer to the question._

_Why_ was _he fighting her?_

 

 

* * *

 

Castiel’s eyes kept going black. Dean tried not to look at them, unnerved, but he couldn’t help it. Whether the angel even knew was hard to tell. It looked as though he was having enough trouble just breathing right now, let alone worrying about his optical color schemes.

“I think... Sam and Alastair... are working together.”

Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to hear it.

“He was urging him on,” Castiel said vacantly, apparently unaware of what his words were doing to his companion. “He told him... to cut me.”

“He’s playing him,” Dean hissed. “You just happened to get in the middle. That’s all it is, seriously. Sam would never do that.”

“He hates... me. He hates all the angels. In this... timeline he has lost his faith.”

“It was Ruby,” said Dean, his voice filled with hopelessness. “She messed with his head. By the time he realized what she’d done to him, Lucifer was riding the elevator up from Hell. Sam cut her throat while I watched. I’ve never seen him look so cold, man. She pushed him over the edge.” He sighed. “He didn’t want to go with you. You’re right, he hated you. I think you were a reminder of how far he’d fallen.”

“I failed him,” Castiel said listlessly.

“Seems you did a better job guiding me,” Dean pointed out, wanting to change the subject. He plastered a sly grin on his face, hoping Castiel wouldn’t know it was fake. “Though I still don’t know how you got me to turn my back on girls. I hope you didn’t use any freaky mind control mojo. That’s not right, dude.”

“You fought me every step of the way,” said the angel fondly, and there was enough humor in his words to let Dean know that all of it had been above board. No spells. No whammies. Apparently his other self had legitimately fallen for him. _Jesus._

Dean couldn’t really imagine it, but apparently it had happened. He looked down at Castiel, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and at the same instant Castiel looked up at him, his eyes wide and blue and oddly human.

Dean shivered as he felt something – a spark, a flicker, _something_.

Oh yeah. It was there, alright. He just hadn’t spent enough time with Castiel to notice. Wow.

“They’re coming,” Castiel said abruptly, his voice trembling. “Dean, fight them all the way. Don’t let them break you, like they broke Sam. Don’t give in to Lucifer _or_ the angels. You should go out with your righteousness intact.”

“Are you saying goodbye, Cas? Don’t you dare! You’ll be back again. You’re stronger than you know. They’re not going to break you like–”

The door swung open behind him. Dean cursed and turned to face the demons, expecting them to brush him to one side as they always did, but instead one of them grabbed his arm and lifted him to his feet, shoving him out into the corridor. The other two picked up Castiel, who didn’t struggle this time. He had nothing left to fight them with.

They walked across the empty office building, down corridor after corridor, until they entered a glossy, wood-paneled boardroom. Lucifer was sitting at the head of a huge mahogany table, smiling.

“Hello, boys,” he said.

 

* * *

 

_“I killed Lilith,” Sam said blankly, as Dean fussed around him. Castiel stood and watched them from a corner, his expression unreadable. Sam knew he was judging him. Knew he was wondering why he’d even bothered rescuing from Hell. Why he’d wasted his time._

_He noticed that Castiel’s eyes were on Dean, though, and Sam realized that he couldn’t remember the last time the angel had looked at_ him _instead of his brother. What the hell was that about? Was Dean the chosen one now, or something?_

_“You had no way of knowing, Sammy,” Dean said gruffly, helping him pull off his coat. Sam knew he was in shock. He’d been in shock before, and he recognized the signs. And he’d just helped release the Devil from Hell – if that didn’t call for shock, he didn’t know what did._

_“I should have listened to you,” he muttered, closing his eyes as Dean settled him back in his chair with firm hands on his shoulders. “Why didn’t I listen to you? I was so powerful but I killed the wrong demon. I did it wrong, Dean. I did it wrong.”_

_“Not one of your greatest plans, I’ll admit, but you thought you were doin’ the right thing. Come on, snap out of it. We need to figure out what we’re doing next.”_

_“Lucifer will want you,” Castiel said. “It won’t have escaped his notice that you were so powerful. He will want to offer you his gratitude. To get you on his side. Share his power with you.”_

_“Boy, is he ever gonna be disappointed,” Dean sniffed._

_“Lucifer…” Sam repeated softly. He was in shock. He was exhausted. He was, quite literally, drained._

_But the angel’s words sunk inside him, and they struck a chord._

__Lucifer wanted him. __

_“We need to split up,” Sam declared, opening his eyes again and staring at Dean. “I need to be alone to deal with this.”_

_“Impossible,” Castiel interjected, finally flicking his eyes away from his brother to rest on him. “I must watch over you. You are our only hope.”_

_Sam lowered his head, taking a deep breath. He’d get rid of Castiel somehow; use a hex bag, trap him in a spell, whatever. He’d do it. He had to be alone. He had to find Lucifer, and he didn’t want the angel interfering._

_“Okay,” he said. “Come with me then. But Dean doesn’t. We have to go our separate ways to help throw Lucifer off my scent.”_

_He tried to ignore the hurt look on his brother’s face._

_Dean didn’t matter any more._

_Nothing did, except for Lucifer._

 

* * *

 

Dean was pleased to discover that even in the face of the Devil himself he could still be a wiseass.

“I see you’re rockin’ the Gordon Gekko vibe there,” he grunted. “You do know Yuppies are _so_ nineteen-eighties now, don’t you?”

Lucifer was dressed like a Wall Street trader, all red braces and slicked-back hair, his blue business suit shining slightly in the expensive lighting. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed, almost Aryan in appearance. His eyes were cold but his smile was wide. He wasn’t what Dean had been expecting, but Dean hadn’t really known what to expect, so that wasn’t saying much.

The demons carrying Castiel lifted him with ease and laid him flat on the table. Dean got the feeling it wasn’t the first time they’d done it. They didn’t secure him; just left him there, blinking up at the chandelier above his head, too weak to move. Dean’s heart went out to him. He looked small and helpless beside Lucifer’s assured presence.

“I thought it only fitting to dress the part,” said their host, leaning back in his leather chair. “It’s not like I haven’t been doing some trading myself in recent years.”

Dean shrugged. “I’d have thought Wall Street frowned on deals with the Devil.”

“I have followers,” Lucifer said dryly. “Through them I’ve been having some fun. Nothing like a global recession to brighten up my day.”

Oh, come _on_. “You have got to be kidding me,” Dean hissed. “All those banks going under? The credit crisis? All caused by you?”

“I love to spread a little happiness,” Lucifer grinned. “Guy’s gotta have some fun while he’s holed up in the Pit, hmm?”

“Not that there isn’t a lot of fun to be had in Hell,” came a smug voice from somewhere over on Dean’s right. Alastair was standing by one of the windows, looking out at the view. He turned and Dean recoiled from the malice in his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered what this creature had done to his brother while he was on the rack.

_It wasn’t supposed to be Sam. It was supposed to me._

“You’re very lucky to be alive, Dean,” said Lucifer, inspecting his fingernails. “Your brother was vociferous in his desire that you be kept unharmed. Unfortunately, however, all good things must come to an end.”

“What have you done to him?” Dean snapped. He glanced around the room – a handful of demons, but no little brother. “Where is he?”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What makes you think I’ve done anything to him? He came to me of his own free will. He can come and go as he pleases. Here he is now, in fact.” He looked past Dean’s shoulder at the door.

It had been an entire month since Dean had set eyes on his brother, and when he turned he had no idea what he was going to see. But Sam was still Sam – shaggy hair, jeans, plaid shirt. The eyes that fixed on Dean’s were narrowed, though, and the smile on his lips was anything but welcoming.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice a plea.

“Hey, Dean. Miss me?”

“Tell me you’re not with him, Sammy. He’s forcing you, isn’t he? You’re possessed or something, right?”

Sam snorted, pushing past him to stride across the room. He stood at Lucifer’s side and folded his arms, his gaze flicking over Castiel’s prone body disdainfully before coming to rest on his brother again. “You need to get a grip, Dean,” he said matter-of-factly. “I switched sides. I’m not even human. You know that, don’t you? Where was the sense in me staying with you guys? I used to be a sucker for lost causes, but not any more.”

Dean felt as though his legs were going to give way underneath him. He’d assumed – hoped – that Sam had been faking this. But his eyes were so cold. There was nothing about him that hinted he wasn’t deathly serious. He was different; even the way he held himself had changed. He stood upright, firm. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

And then, as Dean watched, Sam’s eyes turned black.

He swallowed hard, disturbed beyond all measure, but as Sam’s eyes returned to their normal color he felt a wave of anger sweep through him. “You selfish son of a bitch,” he growled, taking a step forward. Instantly the demon standing beside him grabbed his arms, holding him still, and Dean couldn’t pull away. _Damn demon strength._

“I wanted to keep you safe at first.” Sam shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Alastair chuckled to himself, but Dean didn’t take his eyes off his brother to look at him. “I was convinced that if I kept you alive then it somehow made me… I dunno, a little human still. Sentimental, I guess. But things have changed. I’ve changed. I know you’ll never understand what we’re doing here, Dean. I know your existence is a waste of time. The kindest thing for you is to end it. Put you out of your misery.”

Dean wanted to speak, wanted to argue, wanted to scream, wanted to shout. But he couldn’t. Suddenly all the words inside him vanished. Suddenly there was nothing left.

Sam wanted him dead. Sam was a demon. What was the point of struggling? There was nothing he could do. He’d lost.

“But first…” Sam clapped his hands, rubbing them together in massively un-Sam-like glee. “Let’s get rid of this angel, shall we?”

Alastair sauntered over to him and Sam stepped aside, grinning so hugely it made Dean’s heart ache. Just for an instant he looked like the old Sam, but as Dean watched Alastair bend down and draw a syringe of blood from Lucifer’s arm, he knew his real brother wouldn’t smile like that. It was wrong. _Hungry._

“It’s good to share,” Lucifer said idly, watching with a bored demeanor as Alastair held up the syringe and studied it. He depressed the plunger a little and blood squirted into the air. Where it hit the table, it hissed and smoked. Dean stared at it in shock and glanced across at Castiel, who was lying with his eyes closed, only his clenched fists giving away the fact he was conscious.

“Please don’t do this,” Dean begged, suddenly terrified for him; he really hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that Lucifer’s blood was like acid in his veins. “You can’t do this. Come on, Sammy! He’s an angel! He pulled you out of Hell!”

“And I’m supposed to be grateful for that?” Sam scowled. “For him making me the angels’ bitch?”

“That’s not how it was, Sam, and you know it! He disobeyed for us. He’s not like the others!”

Sam stared at him, his gaze measured. Then he reached out and touched Alastair on the arm. “Not you this time,” he said, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“You always were good with a needle or two,” Alastair drawled approvingly, handing him the syringe.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam!” Dean’s voice was ragged; he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sam was going to kill an angel. _He was honest-to-God going to do this._ “What the hell are you doing here? Why are you even talking to that maniac? The last time you saw him he nearly strangled you to death!”

“Water under the bridge,” Sam said distractedly, moving past Alastair until he was level with Castiel’s shoulders. He rolled up his sleeves like he was ready for business and pushed the angel’s head to one side, exposing his jugular vein.

“Get away from him!” Dean yelled, struggling so ferociously that another demon had to join the first in holding him still. Sam shot him an amused look, the tip of the needle touching Castiel’s neck.

“He always liked you more than he liked me anyway,” he pointed out with a crooked grin. “Didn’t do him much good though, did it?”

Castiel’s eyes had flickered open. He couldn’t look up because Sam’s hand was holding his head sideways, but he addressed his words to him regardless. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he said somberly. “I failed you. I don’t know how, but I failed you. This wasn’t meant to happen.”

“Damn right it wasn’t,” Sam hissed.

And in one swift movement he pulled the needle away from Castiel’s neck and sank it deep into the vein on his own arm.

It happened so quickly that nobody had time to react, least of all Dean. He watched in numb, blank surprise as Sam threw the empty syringe to one side and lifted his hand in front of Lucifer’s face; an instant later, the Devil had been knocked backwards and out of his chair with a yelp of outrage. Alastair roared and reached out for him but Sam twisted so quickly Dean could barely believe it, waving a hand in Alastair’s face with an expression of total concentration. Alastair shrieked in horror as he was engulfed in flames. Even as he fell to his knees beside the table Sam was glancing around the room, knocking demons to the floor with nothing but a look. The two holding Dean collapsed in a heap and, coming to his senses, Dean kicked the nearest one in the crotch.

Sam turned back to Lucifer. He’d gone.

“Dammit!” he yelled, his voice far deeper than Dean was used to hearing it. “I don’t fucking _believe_ it! That slimy son of a…” He grabbed the chair nearest to him and threw it across the room in a wild fury. Then he stood and panted for a short while, his shoulders heaving, as Dean stood a few feet away and stared at him in total amazement.

“You sly bastard,” he said eventually. “You really were bluffing, weren’t you?”

Sam turned to face him, clearly trying to keep himself under control. He met Dean’s eyes and took a deep breath.

“Never play poker with me, dude,” he said. “I’d win every time.”

And then they were hugging, both of them still shocked at the speed of events but already syncing up as though they’d never been apart. Dean squeezed him hard, so relieved he actually felt sick. Sam wasn’t evil. Oh, thank God. Thank fucking God for that. He was still Sam. He was still his brother.

“You had me going for a moment there,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut over Sam’s shoulder.

“That was the idea,” Sam huffed into his ear. “I’m sorry, Dean. I had to be convincing.”

“Well, you were, you manipulative bastard. If Hollywood hadn’t burned I’d be nominating you for an Oscar right now.”

“Lucifer will be back,” Castiel called weakly from the table. “We need to leave.”

Dean released Sam, remembering that they weren’t in the clear yet. He took Castiel’s wrist and helped him sit upright, but as he tried to slide off the table his knees buckled and Sam had to catch him.

“I got you,” Sam said softly, as the angel moaned. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry, Castiel. I had to go along with what they were doing. I wasn’t strong enough yet. I had no choice. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel didn’t respond, seemingly struggling to keep conscious. Dean slipped his arm behind his back and held him firmly, wincing at the heat coming off him. His eyes fell on the pits in the mahogany table that Lucifer’s blood had created and he stared at Sam in incomprehension.

“How the hell did you put that blood inside you and not _die_? That stuff should’ve burned right through you!”

Sam dropped his eyes to the floor, avoiding Dean’s gaze as he helped him lift Castiel to his feet. “It just made me stronger,” he said guiltily. “I’ve been drinking it for weeks, Dean. I told him I wanted to be his lieutenant, that I needed my powers back. It was the only way I could be strong enough to fight him, but he didn’t know that’s what I wanted it for. I tricked him. He thought I was on his side. All of them – Alastair, the lot. I had to convince them, and I managed it.” He laughed bitterly. “Ruby’s not the only one who can pull a good double-cross.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve been drinking his blood? Voluntarily? Holy fuck, Sammy! I mean, Ruby was bad enough, but… Lucifer?”

Sam shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “Hey, why have beer when you can have champagne? It’s powerful stuff, Dean. You saw what I just did when I had a hit of it. It’s like it charges me up or something, but ten times stronger than Ruby’s blood ever did. He wouldn’t give me enough, though – he’s been rationing it out, only giving me some every few days. I needed so much more, and today was my only chance to mainline a large amount.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I didn’t get him. Christ, Dean, I should’ve killed him. If he’d stayed around for a second longer…”

“…He’d have killed you,” Dean finished for him. “You just caught him by surprise, is all. You can’t get as strong as Lucifer just by drinking his blood, you idiot! What the hell were you thinking? It would’ve made you into a full-on _demon!_ ”

“What other choice did I have?” Sam snapped, finally looking up at him. His eyes flashed dark and Dean winced. “Who else is going to stop him, man? The angels don’t give a damn! Look at how many people he’s killed already! And there’s something else you don’t know, Dean. Something crazy. He told me he did something to our reality. I know it sounds nuts, but he meddled with our timeline. He shouldn’t have been as strong as this.”

Dean quirked a rueful grin. “Yeah, yeah, I know. He went back in time to kill John Connor. Who, incidentally, appears to be me. Now all we can do is get our very own Terminator here to do the same and kick his ass.” Dean nodded at Castiel, seeing Sam’s eyes narrow in surprise.

“You already know… Right, of course you do. Castiel would’ve known. Did you figure out what Lucifer changed?”

Dean nodded. “Oh, it’s a doozy. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here and find a way to fix our cyborg.”

 

* * *

 

The Chevy was parked somewhere in the next state, right where Dean had left it before Lucifer’s demons had grabbed him. They had no choice but to break into an old Subaru in the office block’s half-empty parking garage, Dean’s face twisting in disgust as they climbed in and eased Castiel onto the back seat.

“If we’re gonna try and save the world, I’d like nicer wheels to do it in,” he muttered.

“We’re not going far anyway,” his brother told him, leaning down to hotwire the vehicle. “We just have to figure out a way to heal Cas and he can do all the work.”

“He’s got a brand on his wrist keeping his angel-fu under lock and key. He said the only thing that’ll break it is fire.” Dean narrowed his eyes, staring down at the cigarette lighter on the car’s dashboard just as Sam’s eyes fell on it, too. “Ah,” said Dean. “Guess that’ll work just as well as a red-hot poker.”

“Let’s get some distance between us and Lucifer first,” Sam hissed, as the engine flared into life. He drove out of the lot like a bat out of hell, tyres screeching, and for a moment Dean missed a world in which someone would actually be around to give a damn and possibly call the police.

There was nobody left in Santa Fe to notice, unless you counted all the bodies.

 

* * *

 

They pulled over on a deserted freeway, parking under a cluster of spruce trees that did nothing to break up the heat of the sun. There was the faint, lingering smell of death on the air and they hadn’t seen a single other person during their journey. Dean had been locked in that room for a month and had no idea how many people Lucifer and Alastair had killed in the meantime. He thought about asking Sam, but his brother just stared at the horizon, his face pale and his eyes gleaming with something unidentifiable, something not entirely _human_ , and Dean decided to leave it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know anyway.

He twisted in his seat to face Castiel, who had managed to sit upright in the back with what looked like an immense struggle. His hands gripped the headrest of Sam’s seat and he was breathing hard, his face a pale mask of pain.

“This is gonna hurt,” Dean said to him, feeling knots coil and uncoil in his stomach. _If this didn’t work…_

“Just… do it,” Castiel said hoarsely, and held out his wrist.

Dean met his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, and he found himself holding his breath as he placed the hot end of the cigarette lighter on the brand.

Castiel screamed. Dean had just enough time to pull his hand back before the scream turned into the kind of whine he could only assume, from Sam’s descriptions, was the angel’s true voice – it was terrifyingly loud, making his teeth vibrate in his head, and he dropped the lighter and slammed his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to shut it out. An instant later there was a flash of light, so bright it reminded Dean of the flash from an atomic bomb; a pure white-out, scorching and terrible. He only just managed to close his eyes in time to avoid being blinded. The windows of the Subaru shattered around them and the car alarm started to peal, and then, suddenly, it all stopped.

Dean looked up. Castiel had gone.

He blinked, staring around him in confusion, glancing across at Sam to check he was okay. Sam was looking out of the window, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and Dean followed his gaze. Castiel was standing in front of the car, staring down at his wrist with a wistful expression. As Dean climbed out of the vehicle and approached him, the question forming on his lips, Castiel saved him the trouble of asking it.

“Yes,” he said. “It worked.”

His voice was normal again, not a croak to be heard. He looked himself, too: flushed with both his health and all the power he usually possessed, which radiated out from him like a physical force. Dean felt it hit him and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “So you’re back,” he observed, as Sam came to stand beside him. “You can get your time-travel freak on and go back and change all this, right?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Cold Oak, South Dakota is my next destination.” He looked down the freeway, his eyes scrunching against the sun. “I’ll note the location of the office block in case Lucifer uses it as a base in my timeline. If he does, it will be strategically important.”

Sam held out a hand. Castiel stared at it sternly and then shook it, looking up at Sam quizzically.

“You make sure you put things right, okay?” Sam said, his voice cracking a little. “Don’t let him get this far.”

“I will do my utmost,” Castiel said evenly.

Dean knew he should hold out his hand, too, but suddenly he could only think of one thing. “Cas, what happens to us?” he asked nervously. “You’re gonna go back to Cold Oak and stop Lucifer from creating this world. _Our_ world. What happens to me and Sammy? Do we just blink out of existence?”

Castiel’s eyes rested on his. “Yes,” he said stiffly.

He certainly wasn’t one for beating around the bush, Dean thought morosely. “Okay,” he said, and coughed. “We’ve just signed our own death warrants, then, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” the angel said again, narrowing his eyes as he studied him.

Dean let out a breath. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he observed with a shrug, shooting Sam a quick glance. His brother looked resigned. Relieved, even. Dean didn’t doubt that he was happy to die here if it meant another timeline could be saved.

Jesus, their lives were fucked-up.

Dean sighed. “Will _you_ remember us, at least?” he asked, trying not to sound quite as pathetic as he felt.

Castiel blinked. He looked at Sam, his expression softening, before turning back to Dean. And then, to Dean’s utter amazement, he closed the gap between them and kissed him on the lips, one hand coming round the back of his head to hold him in place as the other fell on his cheek, stroking it gently as his lips caressed his.

“What the…” Sam muttered somewhere a few feet away, but Dean didn’t care. He felt a shiver run from his toes to his lips, a crazy jolt of pleasure that was _right_ and _true_. It was like he’d lost something; like he’d been searching for it all his life, and suddenly he’d found it in the last place he’d looked.

Then Castiel pulled away, and Dean could do nothing but gaze at him through wide, shocked eyes.

“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel softly, and the look on his face was like nothing Dean had ever seen before. “I will remember you.”

And he was gone.

Moments later they were gone, too.

 

* * *

 

Sam had been gone for just long enough to make Dean wonder if he should give him a call, although he knew in his heart that his absence was probably down to a line at the take-out place. He wished he’d hurry. He was famished in that annoying way that happened when you’ve done nothing all day but your body seemed to cry out for fuel regardless. It was like a trick it played on you, like it wanted you to be hungry just for the hell of it.

Then again, Dean was always hungry. When they were kids Sam used to tell him he had a tapeworm. Actually, he told him that as an adult, too. Dean had believed him once and researched it online before deciding if he _did_ have a tapeworm he really didn’t want to know. He was happy, it was happy, why change the status quo?

Though he had a strong feeling the tapeworm wouldn’t have made it to Hell and back with him. The angels probably weren’t too keen on reanimating intestinal parasites.

He stared down at the book before him and realized he’d now read the same paragraph six times. It was stuffy and dull, full of weird spellings and snatches of Latin, and he was bored senseless after two entire days spent reading crap like it. The only reason he was reading it in the first place was because Castiel wasn’t there to tell them what they needed to know; he’d vanished the day before without a word – as was his way – but this was the longest he’d left he and Sam alone since Lucifer had risen.

Dean knew it was sappy, but he missed him.

“I missed you too,” came a voice behind him, and Dean had become so used to Castiel’s sudden appearances and disappearances that he didn’t even jump. Instead he put the book down on the table and turned in his chair, a grumpy “Where in the hell have you been?” on his lips, but at the sight of the angel he lost the ability to speak.

Castiel was covered in mud, his coat dripping on the lurid motel room carpet. His knuckles were scraped and raw, and a line of blood ran from his hairline to his chin. He was panting hard and soaking wet, but his eyes were bright and he was smiling enigmatically. Dean jumped to his feet, shocked, but Castiel answered the question before he could ask it.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I had a little encounter with Lucifer, but I sent him packing.”

“You… what? You kicked his ass? Really?”

Castiel nodded, then sighed. “Unfortunately he has already recovered. It was a temporary victory, but at least things are as they should be.”

Dean frowned. “Things are as they should be? What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t worry, Dean. It doesn’t matter.” Castiel came to stand in front of him. He smelt of cold rain and damp earth, like a wet winter’s night, which was crazy because it was July. Dean had the sudden feeling he’d been somewhere he couldn’t grasp, and it annoyed him.

“You always talk in riddles,” he grumbled. “Will you ever give me a straight answer, Cas?”

Castiel’s reply was a long, lingering kiss that stole the breath from his lungs. Arms circled him, holding him close with surprising tenderness, and Dean didn’t even spare a thought for the fact his clothes were soaking up mud and blood as he stood there.

After a few minutes Castiel released him, his face flushed under its sprinkling of rainwater. Dean licked his lips, wondering why that had felt so… different. He could taste something on Castiel’s mouth, something familiar and unfamiliar, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You taste weird,” he said softly. “Have you been cheating on me, Cas? Kissing someone else?”

Castiel smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I don’t remember,” he said, and Dean had the strangest feeling he was lying.

 

* * *


End file.
